Further along the road that night, Henry Whittemore “was alert and came to the door to see what was stirring. A soldier, leaving the ranks, asked him for a drink of water; he refused, saying, ‘What are you out, at this time of night, for?’ As soon as they passed he at once began to warn the company, and at day-break they were formed on the common ready for active service.”
Not everyone was so concerned. “Though it was so long after midnight, some young men were busily engaged playing cards in a shop . . . and they did not leave their game till they were startled by the near approach of the British troops.” Seeing a “glimmer of a light through the shutter of the house, a soldier was sent to inquire. The wife replied that her "old man was sick, and she was making some herb tea." The soldier was satisfied with the answer and rejoined his comrades. But the “old shoemaker and his wife had just been melting their pewter plates into bullets, and when startled by the loud knock at the door, the old man had thrown himself upon the bed, and his wife had upset the skillet of molten lead into the turf ashes before she unlocked the door.”
William Legge, the stepson of Lord North, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, was not the only important political power intimately involved in this day. The stars had crossed in their paths. Lord Dartmouth had given orders which were unpopular with many, including Hugh Percy, 2nd Duke of Northumberland, the son-in-law of Lord Brute, perhaps the most powerful Whig in Parliament, and one of the wealthiest.
Hugh Percy at thirty-three years old was an unhealthy and visibly ugly man who suffered from hereditary gout and poor eyesight—he was also a gentleman of impeccable manners, and a brave and excellent soldier and apparently beloved by his men. He had been in numerous battles before, and as Brigadier General and Colonel of the 5th Regiment of Foot, it was his job to march on that April morning in relief of the beleaguered Smith, the latter having set out with a lightened ordinance so as to march more quickly.
From the beginning, Percy was against the Gage plan “for being petty and fraught with risks,” as one historian notes. It was thus inevitable that it should be Percy who would have to salvage the venture.
The British field officer was the unsung hero of that early Empire, as much as he would be later in India or Africa. But the glory of the time too often went to the Navy. However, it was Wellington who defeated Napoleon, not Nelson. The quality of that infantry was high and losses on the world stage were few, given the far-flung nature of their exploits. And until the Old Men in command annihilated that special breed by tossing them against the modern machines of World War One, it was the British field officer who built and preserved the Empire. A study of their failure in America would be a book on the inherent weakness of occupation, not of the soldier.
Opposing them on that day was an unlikely network of rebels, relatively undisciplined, poorly trained, and ill-equipped. Certainly, the stuff that legends are made of. But the myths of the American Revolution have never quite matched the reality. The reality was that much greater in every respect.
I was not interested in challenging those myths with my small story. I wanted a simpler focus on the death of this young woman and this boy, and the reasons for the murder that might have happened at that time and place. Clearly, they were murdered. An ultimate crime quite apart from the killing of soldiers. And the time and place offered a terrific circumstance. I was sure there must be a story worth telling.
When I was teaching high school history, I used to spend a week on just this one day. The school would not give me a bus to take my classes out, so I walked them through it in the room and the hall. In fact, it was in the hall that I got into trouble with a math teacher, that last year before I quit. He objected to the popping of balloons. I explained the fact that we were not allowed to have guns—even fake guns. He wouldn’t listen. Math is a quiet and insidious subject.
In any case, even the worst schools teach a little about the confrontation, though they get the facts screwed. What they tell is only what happened at Lexington and Concord. The battle of Menotomy is pretty much ignored outside of the town of Arlington itself.
Ensign Jeremy Lister wrote of the confrontation that morning: “it was at Lexington when we saw one of their companys drawn up in regular order Major Pitcairn of the Marines second in Command call’d to them to disperce, but their not seeming willing he desired us to mind our space which we did when they gave us a fire then run of to get behind a wall. We had one man wounded in our Compy in the Leg his name was Johnson also Major Pitcairns Horse who was shot in the Flank we return’d their Salute, and before we proceeded on our March from Lexington I believe we kill’d and Wounded either 7 or 8 men. We Marchd forward without further interruption till we arriv’d at Concord, tho large bodies of Men was collected together and with Armes yet as we approached they retired.”
Lieutenant John Barker says in his diary, “We met with no interruption till within a mile or two of the Town, where the Country People had occupied a hill which commanded the road; the Light Infantry were order’d away to the right and ascended the height in one line, upon which the Yankees quitted it without firing.” This was the command of Rev. Emerson, who was thankfully persuaded to change his mind about his initial plan, “if we die let us die here,” by Eleazer Brooks of Lincoln.
Provincial Capt. Amos Barrett led his company before the British, playing their drums and fifes. It is important to remember that at this moment there were only about 100 armed Provincials from Concord and Lincoln, in all.
Smith broke his troops defensively to cover his position and sent detachments forward to accomplish the objectives of his orders. Lister describes the defense at the Concord River: “I proposed destroying the Bridge, but before we got one plank of they got so near as to begin their Fire which was a very heavy one, tho. Our Compys was drawn up in order to fire Street firing, yet the weight of their fire was such that we was oblidg’d to give way then run with the greatest precipitance at this place there was 4 Men of the 4th Compy Killd who was afterwards scalp’d their Eye goug’s their Noses and Ears cut of, such barbarity exercis’d upon the Corps could scarcely be paralelld by the most uncivilized Savages.”
It is noteworthy that Lister remembers this detail of the Provencials’ barbarity, which he did not witness because he had already withdrawn with ‘precipitance’, so much more clearly than the crucial events he actually participated in. The fog of war has always been the saving grace of the soldier with adrenaline pumping. The imagined cruelty of the enemy has always been the just cause of the warrior.
Yet, still, I had difficultly believing the idea of rape and murder could be acceptable to such men.
Lister notes specifically, “there was a good number Wounded amongst which was a Lt Hull 43rd through the Right Brest, of which with other Wounds recd that day he died three or four days after. L. Gould 4th and Lt Kelly 10th also Lt Sunderland a Voluntier Wounded. . .” These were comrades he knew personally. His brothers at arms. Lt. Gould and Lt. Barker were the only officers who were at the skirmish at Concord Bridge. Lister continued, “after we had got to Concord again my situation with the remains of the Compy was a most fatigueing one, being detached to watch the Motions of the Rebels, we was kept continually running from hill to hill as they changed their position. . . . ”
Re-gathering his forces before noon, Smith started his retreat to Boston. Lister says, “the Rebels begun a brisk fire but at so great a distance it was without effect, but as they kept marching nearer when the Granadiers found them within shot they returned their fire just about that time I recd a shot through by Right Elbow joint which effectually disabled that Arme, it then became a general firing upon us from all quarters, from behind hedges and Walls we return’d the fir every opportunity.”
Low on ammunition and quickly being outnumbered by the gathering forces of rebels as word of the confrontation spread, Smith and his Regulars were happy to meet with re-enforcements under the command of Hugh Percy as they again reached Lexington about 3 o’clock in the afterno
on. It is there they stopped for a brief rest.
I believe it is important that most of the looting began in Lexington, during the retreat, and after Smith was wounded. It was there that Percy took command of the situation. Historian Frank Coburn, quoting from Historical Society Proceeding and the Journals of the Provincial Congress, cited the loses of individual property owners. Coburn believed “the wonton and needless destruction of property must have been by the express command,” as it occurred, “within a few rods of where Percy sat on his white horse.” I see no other interpretation. And if the mind-set of Percy’s soldiers had been turned to pillage and plunder, it might have encouraged other thoughts as well. “While Smith’s soldier’s were resting, some of those under Percy . . . wandered about that part of the village bent on mischief and pillage, not the kind usually indulged in by the average rowdy element in the army, but on a much larger and grander scale. Houses were looted and burned . . . together with such of their contents as could not be carried away . . . To him belongs the blame . . . for the killing of such helpless old men as Raymond, the summary removal of Hannah Adams and her infant from child-bed, for the killing of feeble-minded William Marcy; for the killing of fourteen-year Edward Barbor. His entire march back to Charlestown was thickly dotted with just such incidents, unrelieved by any conspicuous merciful action, or by any deed of bravery. It was a masterful retreat, indeed, and it was a brutal one . . . ”
It was a wonder to me that this fine officer and gentleman had allowed his soldiers to run rampant in that way. He must have had a purpose. But nothing of that was clear in any correspondence or testimony online or in the various databases and those books available to me.
Still, the Regulars were “13 miles to Bunkers Hill, under continual fire from all Quarters as before…” Having been wounded, Lister was given a horse but it was then they were approaching Menotomy: “. . . When I had Road about two miles I found the Balls whistled so smartly about my Ears I thought it more prudent to dismount and as the Balls came thicker from one side or the other so I went from one side of the Horse to the other for some time when a Horse was shot dead close by me.”
Menotomy is forgotten because it was not where first blood was drawn for the great cause. This is part of the American obsession with firsts. First editions. First nights. First loves. But Menotomy must be remembered as part of that first day-long battle, when the gorge of blood replaced the choke of words in American throats.
That the brutality of the day was inconsistent was made clear by many small incidents. Samuel Smith notes: “A little girl, named Nabby Blackington, as they marched by, was watching her mother's cow while she fed by the road-side; the cow took her way directly through the passing column, and the child, faithful to her trust, followed through the ranks bristling with bayonets. ‘We will not hurt the child,’ they said.”
Knowing that Percy too had chosen to carry minimal supplies with him in order to move more quickly in relief of the earlier expedition, General Gage smartly made the decision to send a resupply of ammunition by wagon with military escort. But the rebels had torn up the planks on the bridges to impede just this sort of possibility and the wagon was delayed long enough to allow a small group of the ‘old guard,’ the aging veterans of the wars with the French, to rally in ambush. These were men with military experience but not well enough to be moving quickly in pursuit of the main force of the British. Close to the crossroads by the First Parish Meetinghouse, the British detachment was caught by surprise, the lead horse of the wagon shot, and several Regulars killed or wounded. In desperation the other Regulars fled on foot, west along the shores of Spy Pond. There “they met an old woman named Mother Batherick, digging dandelions, to whom they surrendered themselves, asking her protection. She led them to the house of Capt. Ephraim Frost, where there was a party of our men, saying to her prisoners, as she gave them up, ‘If you ever live to get back, you tell King George that an old woman took' six of his grenadiers prisoners."
It is an interesting note that these may be counted the first British prisoners taken in the Revolutionary War.
Later in the day it was close by this place that the retreating Regulars, busily pillaging every house near to the main road, broke into the home of deacon Joseph Adams. This was an odd story. Adam’s wife was still there with five children hiding beneath her bed with a newborn infant in her arms.
“A soldier opened the curtains and pointed his bayonet at her breast; she cried out for mercy, and another soldier who stood near, said, ‘We will not hurt the woman if she will go out of the house, but we will surely burn it.’ She threw a blanket over her, and with her infant in her arms, crawled to the corn-crib close by.” From beneath the bed the children “watched the feet of the soldiers moving about the room. Joel Adams, a boy of nine years old, curiosity getting the better of his fears, lifted up a corner of the valance, to get a better view . . . A soldier saw him, and said, ‘Why don't you come out here?' The boy answered, ‘You’ll kill me if 1 do.’ 'No we won’t,’ the soldier replied, and the boy came out of his hiding-place, and followed them round.” His father, as church deacon, was responsible for keeping the silver communion service and as the soldier took this along with the family silver the boy yelled at them with indignation, ‘Don’t you touch them ‘ere things. Daddy ‘l lick you if you do.”
Poor lad. His father had failed to prepare for the return of the Regulars, and when they did, the deacon had courageously fled, leaving them all behind, and was even then hiding in the barn while his helpless family faced the kindness of soldiers. When the enemy was gone, it was the children who were left to extinguish the fire using a pot of home-brewed beer and rainwater from a barrel.
The Jason Russell House is on a small rise above the Concord Road, with the mill brook further below. It still stands amidst the congestion of modern Arlington. And it was there that old Russell, feeling too infirm to flee to safety, had barricaded his gate and prepared to fight, saying ‘An Englishman’s house is his castle.’
Some Danvers and Woburn men, finding themselves flanked by the Regulars, had foolishly chosen the house as a place to make a stand as well. Shot and bayoneted, Mr. Russell died there in his doorway shortly before five o’clock that afternoon. Some of the Woburn men had hidden in the basement and escaped. Others died in rooms throughout the house where Mrs. Russell later found the blood ‘ankle deep.’
One of the best stories took place on the Concord Road close to this. There, old Samuel Whittemore lay in wait behind a stone wall for the return of the soldiers, the well-oiled pistols and muskets he had once used in the wars with the French on the ground beside him. His spot was too close and he had been warned to take better cover, but refused. One thinks he might have chosen this better way to die after a long life.
“He fired some half dozen shots at the enemy. He had just loaded his gun when he heard the wall rattle and saw five soldiers of the flank guard approaching shoulder to shoulder. Besides being eighty years old, he was lame, and knew that it was no use to attempt to escape. With his musket he shot one of the soldiers, and, instantly drawing his pistol, fired at another. He aimed the second pistol and discharged it just as they fired at him; one of the soldiers was seen to clap his hand to his breast. As he fired the third time a ball struck [Whittemore] in the head, and he fell senseless. The soldiers beat him with their muskets, bayoneted him, and left him for dead. After the British had passed by, our people, finding that there was some life left in him, carried him to Cooper’s tavern, where the surgeon, Dr. Tufts of Medford, said it was useless to dress his wounds, for he could not live. He dressed the wounds however, and the old hero lived another eighteen years after this, dying in 1793 at the age of 98.”
But as news of ‘victory’ spread, additional rebels continued to gather from all quarters, and fighting had intensified through Menotomy. British ammunition was almost depleted. With the daylight nearly gone and faced with the more densely populated parts of Cambridge still ahead, Lord Percy was forced to m
ake another crucial decision. Abruptly, he changed direction and moved his columns for the peninsula of Charlestown and the cover of the guns on British ships.
Behind the retreat, the rebels closed ranks at each road crossing and bridge, securing these against stragglers and spies. Menotomy bridge was busy into the night with the passage of smaller contingents of rebels from Malden, Waltham and Watertown. Thomas Owen, of Cambridge, later wrote, “Sun was hardly set afore the creatures of the night had stirr’d. The fear of straglars and such had stiffen’d us. It was soon ar neighbor George Perry nokt a feller in the water what tried to pass without good cause. He swam acrost, or drowned, we haven’t which. There comes Peter Hansen, Pig Peter as we knew him. He wanted through carryin a bundle of goods and I had him hold for the officer but he protested. I struck him down with the butt of my musket. His goods went fell to the water in a splash. Silver and such.” It was an image that confirmed the quick order established following the British withdrawal.
Historian David Hackett Fischer summed up that first day with a poignant clarity in his book Paul Revere’s Ride. With the provincial militias following close at the heels of the Regulars, “on Boston’s Beacon Hill, crowds of spectators could see the muzzle-flashes twinkling like fireflies in the gathering darkness.”
In fact, I was thinking of those flashes and much else, as I stood with Becky on the banks of Charles River watching the fireworks this July.
9. Matty at the door
Mary Ellen makes a good cup of coffee. I taught her that. She taught me to put the toilet lid down. That after my mother spent seventeen years teaching me to put the seat up.
I sat in the kitchen of what had once been my own house and waited for Mary Ellen to come back, and thought about all of that, and wondered to myself why things seemed so different this time than ever before. I had been back many times over the last ten years. Never for long, but often for a cup of coffee.
John Finn Page 8